


Fox on the Run

by CampySpaceSlime



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Ragnarok, also why is everyone else scared to make the grandmaster have goldblum speech patterns?, frostmaster, jeff goldblum is hot and i will hear no arguments against that, loki likes to use a lot of magic to get what he wants, thats the ship name i think, what loki did before thor showed up on sakaar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampySpaceSlime/pseuds/CampySpaceSlime
Summary: Flung from the Bifröst, Loki is left alone on the garbage dump planet of Sakaar and if he wants to sit at the popular kids' table, he's gotta catch the attention of the Grandmaster. He's not as much of a fighter as Thor, so he must rely on his wits and his sex appeal, doing what he does best: dicking and tricking.Is the Grandmaster even any match for clever, cunning Loki?





	Fox on the Run

It was not the first time Loki had found himself tumbling headlong into space, not knowing where he was going to end up or even if he would be alive to see the end of the journey, and he was finding it hard to believe it would be his last time, as this was beginning to feel too much like a habit. If anything, he felt bad for Thor. The big lug knew nothing beyond the nine realms for one thing, and for another, he could just as likely be impaled on one of Hela’s knives dead as dust on Asgard, as he could be floating around somewhere in the far reaches of space. It was best not to think about it. Instead, Loki did what he always did best: try to turn even the most dire situation around to benefit numbero uno.

            Landing on that trash planet had at first seemed most unsavory, but ended up being quite fortuitous, Loki soon discovered. There was a king of sorts here, a man consumed with image and sensual delights and Loki could appreciate and even envy that, but most importantly, he could use that for his own advantage. And those quiet threads of unease with the Grandmaster’s rule, if not flat out rebellion, that Loki teased out of the common folk, well, that was just another bit of good luck to work with. If Loki could not be king of Asgard (and who would want it now anyway? Now that it had fallen into the hands of Hela and its most holy places desecrated?) or of Midgard (thanks to those pesky friends of his dumb brother, what were they calling themselves these days? The Superfriends? The Incredible Wet Blankets?), well then he would settle for this cacophony of color and garbage. Better things were bound to come if he could sit tight on the proverbial throne of Sakaar and amass a new Sakaarian army. Surely there were beings of which the Wet Blankets could never even dream of who ended up here, who Loki could befriend with that silver tongue and use to wrench Midgard out of the hands of Thor’s chums. And sitting at the center of all these portals scattered across the galaxy? The possibilities… In quiet moments, Loki could almost hear the bone-shaking sound of all of the galaxy’s many denizens falling to their knees before him, adoring him. Just Midgard could hardly be enough.

            Yes, Sakaar first and bigger and better things in time.

            It took some political maneuvering, but after he landed here among hunks of space debris, fought off some scavengers with his daggers and not a small amount of illusions, and found his way into the city proper, he eventually was able to ingratiate himself among an outer circle of the Grandmaster’s court. Well-placed words, deft fingers, and counterfeit units had oiled the machinations of Loki’s rise into this group, but he was still very much removed from the Grandmaster himself, which would hardly do if Loki’s grandiose fantasies were to become reality.

            The Grandmaster, for his part, seemed blissfully oblivious to the goings on in the shadows around him, unaware of the various squabbles and power struggles that daily swept along behind his coattails. Part of this was thanks to the powerful, meaty shield of Topaz, whose gruff demeanor protected the Grandmaster from anyone unworthy enough to approach him; and on the other hand, the Grandmaster himself was so taken with his bread and circuses lifestyle, he effectively distracted himself from everything else. It didn’t take long for Loki to realize that the Grandmaster’s days were all a blur of wanton sex, overindulgence in food and drink, and becoming charmingly enchanted over the brawls of his contenders, especially that new one that Loki had yet to see, someone brought in by a Scraper 142 and who left a mountain of corpses in his wake.

            Best not to think of that contender either: what this champion could do if the Grandmaster ever caught wind of Loki’s lofty goals and gave him over to the fearsome creature. Loki had been tossed around enough in his life, best to think on the optimistic side.

            It had been relatively easy to steal an invitation to one of the Grandmaster’s infamous orgies. Some fluttering of eyelashes, his hand on that Kree’s massive cock, and he was able to go home with the man, slit his throat, and dump the oversized blue body outside the walls of the city for the scavengers to feast on to their heart’s content. Simple to find the invitation among the Kree’s belongings. Easy peasy to make himself look like the Kree and slip unnoticed into the man’s life, this changeling role easier to pull off than being Odin had been.

            Simple, all of that. What was harder was preparing for this orgy. Through multiple avenues of gossip, Loki learned that there was at least twenty other beings invited to this shindig, which meant that getting the Grandmaster’s attention among this crowd was paramount, but he had no idea how to make himself stand out.

            Gossip continued to pour in, teaching Loki that although the Grandmaster hosted all sorts of erotic parties, his activity of choice seemed to be to watch, in much the same way that one would never see him enter the gladiatorial ring himself but rather, he liked to perch at a distance, watchful gaze on everything going on before him. A second rumor that the court insisted on as fact was that the Grandmaster had a very strict policy at his orgies: everyone must climax before he would ever bring the party ship (for these get-togethers always happened on top of the line starships) back home. There was a wild tale that circulated with the gravity of biblical truth that for his birthday one year, the Grandmaster had invited an Axonian along on one of his pleasure cruises. In whispered tones, it was said that Axonians did not orgasm, that they were simply physically unable to. All of the party attendees save for the Grandmaster, locked together as they were in the Grandmaster’s ship, sworn only to stop once everyone had come at least once, had starved to death waiting on the Axonian.

            Loki had never heard of Axonians or their unique biology before but clearly this little erotic voyage was going to take more prep that just stretching his ass out for a few nights prior. No, it was going to take some cunning to pull this off. And a fair amount of magic.

            So as the days counted down and the date of the Grandmaster’s celebration grew ever nearer, Loki had to think way back on spells he had researched and taught himself back when he’d been a lonely and sexually frustrated teenager. He had to think of that particularly painful memory of hobbling along a corridor of the Asgardian palace to the healing center after having been experimenting with magically controlled orgasms and had been coming for the better half of an hour. He’d thought then that he was going to die, either from the spell itself or from embarrassment, and had sworn to himself that he would never touch that brand of magic again. But he was much more experienced now and yes, he’d spent a night in the Kree man’s apartment just absolutely drenching his underwear and bedsheets, but he’d got everything under control now and it was the best that it was going to get. He had no space to be anything less than confident.

            Armed thus and with only the faintest tremor of trepidation, Loki, disguised as the Kree, flashed his invitation and was welcomed onto the bright orange ship. There was a bar inside at which a host of people were already drinking, hoping for the liquid courage necessary to start a party like this. Loki found a pile of pastel cushions on the floor and sank into them, his hulking blue frame a bit off-putting to the other party-goers, who gave him a wide berth, which was just fine. Loki couldn’t afford to be too distracted (a little distraction he would allow, he wasn’t a saint after all), not when he still couldn’t find the Grandmaster among the steadily growing crowd.

            After a while, the doors of the ship hissed closed and the ship shuddered briefly before smoothly taking to the air. As far as Loki knew, it would run a course around a few notable stars and planets, running on autopilot until the Grandmaster’s word brought it back home.

            When the ship took off, a cheer went through the attendees, the noise of which suddenly and powerfully got louder with the Grandmaster’s appearance as he emerged from the back of the ship. Loki sat up straighter and craned his neck to watch as the Grandmaster grinned and sashayed his way into the sound booth of the ship, his booming voice cutting through all other chatter.

            “Uh, yeah? Hello!” he said, at which the crowd went nuts, screaming, bellowing, throwing things. “I’m going to play my new song!”

            There was the distinct sound of synthesizers and then the crush of the crowd blocked Loki from catching even the slightest glimpse of the Grandmaster. He settled back into the cushions he had claimed, content to wait until just the right moment to execute his plan. He was already semi-hard from thinking about it, or was it from the lithe aliens gyrating together on the dance floor, beckoning him to join them? No matter, a little fun before the main festivities could be allowed.

            “Hello ladies,” he said as he slid up to the mass of dancing limbs.

            “Ever been with a god before?” He asked, a sly eyebrow lifting on his face, as one of his new dance partner’s tentacles wrapped around his waist and pulled him into the dance.

 

 

 

 

 

*          *                      *                      *                                  *                      *                      *

 

 

 

 

 

 

         It didn’t take long before the party took a turn toward the more outwardly sensual: random groupings of people falling onto the scattered cushions, mouths and limbs entangled, or more boldly still, couplings happening on the dancefloor itself, so that with each flash of a strobe light, Loki could see a feast of nude flush among the crush of bodies still dancing, still moving. The Grandmaster had stopped creating his own music and had retreated to an ostentatious and plush throne where a few people perched around him, boldly falling into his lap, whispering in his ear. Loki, from his vantage point across the room, could see the white gleam of their teeth as the group laughed together, caressing each other’s various body-parts.

            Loki had stopped dancing with the aliens a while ago, when one of the damp tentacles had gotten a little too exploratory. On a normal day, he might have allowed it, but today he had to save himself for bigger prey. And so instead, he’d let them undress him and then he twirled away, an oddly delicate gesture when he was seemingly a large blue wall of a man, and pressed through the dancers toward the bar. He leaned against it and took stock of the whole room.

            Not an inch away from him, an Asgardian youth was being tossed around and fucked roughly against the bar. In the closest configuration of cushions, what looked to be about a dozen people were writhing together. The music, loud as it was, was having a difficult time completely masking the distinctive sounds of pleasure careening off of the walls of the ship.

            Loki’s nose wrinkled at the onslaught. And yes, he was painfully aware of how hot it was to watch that Asgardian boy get his faced smashed against the unyielding counter of the bar as he took cock after cock like a champ, as a group of different men muscled for rank behind him. Yea, that was hot as hell. Brought back some memories. Ah, to be young again.

            But he mustn’t lose focus. No, he must make an impression and fast.

            He could feel the magic welling up inside him, so powerful and solid that the Kree disguise fell away from him, and his hair, now dark and full, stood on end. His spell wouldn’t work on the Grandmaster, but the rest of these feeble-minded idiots? Loki had never tried it on so many but he had little doubt it would work. After all, it had to.

            He moved his hands, pulling at the invisible threads of magic that pulsed through every moment, weaving a tapestry, gaining momentum, sweating as he concentrated. He glowed, he knew he glowed, with all the energy flowing through him. He had caught the attention of the Asgardian, who gazed at him curiously, perhaps in that moment recognizing him, but too fucked out to care. Loki smirked over at him and then released his magic.

            The result was instantaneous. The DJ that had replaced the Grandmaster in the sound booth slumped over, cutting off the music and leaving only the sounds of dozens of different beings coming all at once. Every single person in the ship, except for the Grandmaster and Loki, groaned, screamed, or panted feebly as an excruciatingly powerful orgasm was ripped out of them. Loki still had a hold of the tail end of his magic and he snapped it, the finale, and everyone fell over, slowly sinking to the ground wherever they had found themselves and fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.

            Loki, hiding well his own astonishment that it had all gone completely and utterly to plan, stepped away from the bar where he’d been leaning, faced the Grandmaster who had a softly snoring woman draped over his lap, and gave the most petite of curtsies.

            The Grandmaster, on the other hand, was not hiding his astonishment at all, but looked at Loki first with such shock but then that quickly transformed into amusement and then finally delight. He pushed the woman off of him and got to his feet, grinning broadly and clapping his hands together rapidly.

            “Oh, bravo!” he said. “How fun! What a, uh, fantastic parlor trick, eh?” He nimbly made a sort of dance-walk toward Loki, who had started his own long-legged stride toward him. They met somewhere in the middle, flanked on all sides by spent, sleeping bodies. The Grandmaster, still excitedly smiling, looked him up and down.

            “Well,” he said, taking the measure of Loki, “and how did a snack such as yourself end up in _my_ great big vending machine? You certainly are all legs aren’t you? Which is saying something cause I’ve met people who were literally only legs. Interesting bunch…”

            “I am Loki of Asgard and –ˮ

            The Grandmaster held up his hand. “Hold it,” he said. “Now, I, uh, wrote the guest list myself and I think I’d remember a, what was it?, Lackey Ass-Fart?”

            Loki opened his mouth to correct him but the Grandmaster cut him off again.

            “A party crasher!” he said, clapping his hands together again. “What fun!” Without changing his expression, he suddenly lunged, his strong hand catching Loki by the throat, lifting him so his feet dangled just off of the floor. “You’re not going to try to kill me are you? Cause that’s boring and, uh, will just not do.”

            Gasping, Loki choked out, “no. Never. Not my intention.”

            “Oh good!” said the Grandmaster, releasing him, so that Loki stumbled briefly and panted, trying to catch his breath. “So then we’re going to have a good time then? I like you already, Mr. Ass-fart. A very pretty boy you are. You are a boy right?”

            Loki shrugged. “Mostly,” he replied.

            Perhaps foolishly, before arriving at this moment, he had fully expected to be the one with the upper hand. Sure, the Grandmaster was, by all accounts, centuries upon centuries old, but he still had the capacity to be surprised and Loki had intended to completely catch him off guard. Instead, he was left with a sore throat and a building desperation to make sure he was able to turn this back around for his own benefit.

            “So,” Loki began, when he was sure that his voice wouldn’t waver, “it seems that all of the other guests have, shall we say, finished? But, it appears that _I_ , on the other hand, have not. We can’t return to Sakaar like this, now can we? Not with a guest unsatisfied?”

            “Oh, oh, oh,” the Grandmaster chuckled. “Of course not! Such a naughty boy to even suggest it! Mr. Ass-Fart, you wound me.” He stepped closer, running his hands slowly up and down Loki’s bare arms and shoulder. “We’ll get back to Sakaar in time, but you might be too worn out from trying to keep up with your Grandmaster to even see it.”

            Loki shivered. As much as he was trying to see this all as another mundane task that had to be completed if he was ever to have his own throne, he couldn’t deny that he was also kind of enjoying himself. He had just executed a really tough bit of magic flawlessly and was now the sole subject of the Grandmaster’s hungry gaze. The Grandmaster, sinister as he was, practically vibrated with barely contained erotic energy when Loki was so close to him, so naked and vulnerable before him; he’d truly been a fool to think he could possibly be immune to it. Because he knew the Grandmaster’s lusty gaze found its mirror on his own face and he knew that no matter what the being in front of him wanted from him, he would give it. To be so noticed by someone so powerful? It had been such a deep and inescapable longing throughout his life. Throughout all the times that he snuck around, always in Thor’s shadow, never the chosen one, never the favored one. But now, oh now, Thor was probably dead and rotting away somewhere, but Loki was alive and strong and, as the Grandmaster continued to idly stroke his arms, he was deliciously hard.

            The center of attention, it was all he’d ever wanted to be. And he’d always been so much more clever than that damned Thor. It still, after all these years and all these fights and failures, made no sense that it was Thor that came out victorious time and time again. There was just something intrinsic in Thor, something that made him the true son of Odin, that Loki had never and would never possess. How difficult to face, that he was nothing more than an abandoned, runtly frost giant whose distance to the throne was a chasm that could never be breeched. He would take Sakaar and he would sit on a throne made up of the Grandmaster’s broken, lifeless body, but first he would be adored by the being himself because Loki, clever, cunning Loki, deserved nothing less.

            The Grandmaster began to softly kiss and nip at the pale column of Loki’s throat, so that Loki sighed and let his head fall back, allowing the Grandmaster more flesh to play with. The Grandmaster’s lips were almost supernaturally hot against Loki’s always cold skin. And in between every kiss and exploratory lick, the Grandmaster was mumbling something, a monologue that was continued mostly because he liked the sound of his own voice, Loki gathered, and he ignored it anyway, losing himself instead in the sensation.

            Anywhere that the Grandmaster touched (his hands still on Loki’s shoulders; his mouth now sucking his collarbone, now traveling up the side of Loki’s jaw), set Loki ablaze. It was strange, the Grandmaster’s ability to sort of slow down everything, that even in this gaudy ship that hummed along among myriad stars and nebula, even among a crowd of comfortably sleeping forms, even as the Grandmaster himself prattled on about something or other, Loki had been reduced down to raw, exposed nerves, frost melting, the weak center of him succumbing, begging to be plundered by someone so powerful.

            The Grandmaster’s hand moved, dancing atop the skin of Loki’s chest until he found a nipple, causing it to pebble and Loki’s breath to catch as it was tugged.

            “So, Mr. Ass-Fart, was it?” the Grandmaster said, his voice nonchalant. “Where did you learn your little trick from anyway?”

`           “I taught it to myself,” Loki replied through gritted teeth. He tried to sound as nonchalant as the Grandmaster but the hard grip on his nipple was distracting, as well as the other hand that was moving slowly down his side, inching toward his slender hip. “I am a very talented

magician.”

            “No doubt,” the Grandmaster hummed. “I might, uh, have use of you. Might want to keep you, uh, around. Would you like that?” His hand made circles around Loki’s lithe waist that created a warm, tingling heat and Loki melted into it as it rushed up his body, clouding his thoughts even more.

            “Why don’t you make me cum first,” Loki said, “before I make any promises.”

            “Oh oh!” the Grandmaster laughed. “Cheeky, cheeky!” With no warning, his gentle caresses became a hard spank that sent Loki sprawling forward against the Grandmaster, catching himself on the folds of his robes. The Grandmaster supported him, spanking him roughly again before Loki could catch his bearings.

            Loki bit back a moan as he was helplessly bandied about in the Grandmaster’s grip. Loki always wanted to be in control, he yearned for power with every fiber of his being. He knew little else but its thirst. But yet here he was, desperately not in control, desperately trying to assert some kind of authority, and he found that that struggle, the struggle and the surrender he was sure he’d inevitably give in to, filled him with such an aching carnality that he found he didn’t care about anything else anymore. He didn’t care about his machinations, he didn’t care about his reasons for coming here, for seeking out the Grandmaster. He didn’t care about his lofty dreams. He found that the only thing that mattered was his throbbing cock and the hole within him that ached to be filled by the Grandmaster.  

            Panting, Loki again felt like the insecure teenager he had once been, but needy beyond even that. He clenched, expecting it now, as the Grandmaster spanked him again, his cock slammed with the force of the movement into the Grandmaster’s hip.

            “Well, my brother, now he’s the Collector,” the Grandmaster said conversationally, his fingers drumming lightly on one of Loki’s quivering asscheeks. “They call him that because he collects s-s-stuff. You know, physical, uh, objects? Me, I collect moments. Feelings, if you will. I’m the artist. The maestro. If I could bottle up your little, uh, ragged breaths there? Or harvest that little ‘please fuck me’ look you’ve got on your face right now? It would certainly be worth more than units or infinity stones. But I can’t bottle that so…” He paused. “Well, my collection exists for only as long as it takes me to create it.”

            “Oh god, stop talking,” Loki groaning, thrusting weakly against the Grandmaster’s stoic form. “I don’t want to hear any more talk about brothers.” He found his feet and started to push, prodding and pedaling the Grandmaster backwards until he fell, surprisingly gracefully, back into his big, fancy chair. “And just fuck me already.”

            “Ok!” the Grandmaster chirped, just as nonplussed as ever. He didn’t seem at all alarmed at their change in positions, rather, he simply settled in more comfortably atop his chair, gazing up at Loki with the same unencumbered delight as always. It was always and ever just a game for him, centuries of cheap amusements and diversions and Loki was simply the newest bauble. The Grandmaster had been right, he and his brother, the fabled Collector, were quite alike when you got down to it, differing only in the nature of their collections.

            Whatever the case, the Grandmaster was an avenue to unhindered power, far more than what was even contained in the tesseract, and more important still, he was an avenue for release. For though, perhaps, he wasn’t of the type Loki was typically drawn to, their short stab at foreplay nonetheless got him harder than he could bear.

            Loki climbed on top of the Grandmaster, knees on either side of his outer thighs, and with a quick head shake to whip his black tresses out of his face, he leaned forward and captured the blue-painted bottom lip of the Grandmaster between his teeth. It had been quite a while since he’d been with anyone strong enough for Loki to be rough with. Such were the unfortunate consequences of being an Asgardian stuck among mortals more often than not. But this was what he wanted, what he always wanted: to hurt and to be hurt. To be claimed even while he refused to yield. He wanted pain and subjection, whether he was the one giving it or the victim receiving it.

            Could he make a creature such as the Grandmaster bleed?

            He bit harder on his lip and the Grandmaster growled. One of his hands snaked up between Loki’s spread legs and grabbed his balls in an unrelenting vice grip. Loki yelped and released the Grandmaster, his cock twitching excitedly mere centimeters from the Grandmaster’s fingers.

            “Play nice,” the Grandmaster grumbled, tonguing at his swollen lip. “I’m really more, uh, what’s it? Vanilla? than people think that I am. You don’t need to be rough to get your point across.” He ran his free hand through his gray hair. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a wounded man. Got a lot of baggage. Welcome to Sakaar, baby, where everybody’s got baggage and their baggage has got baggage.” The hand on Loki shifted in the smallest of movements and suddenly his fingertips were ghosting over Loki’s cock, stroking gently.

            Loki gave in to the touch, muscles relaxing, until he was reduced, diminished, dragged down until his awareness was only the point where warm hand met over-heated flesh.

            “There’s a good boy,” the Grandmaster said. “You don’t really want to be mean, eh? You got that gooey center and you want somebody to eat that right up.”

            “No,” Loki started to say but then the Grandmaster’s hand twisted, sped up, squeezed just below his engorged cockhead and he found himself gasping instead. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. Please.” A keening noise he knew he should be ashamed of escaped his lips but he found that it didn’t matter. Something about the Grandmaster whisked all of that away. All of his posturing. All of his trickery and illusions. There was a deep, primal magic to the Grandmaster and, oh, how had he not seen it before? How had he not seen that the powerlessness, the whimsy, was an act? The Grandmaster was ancient, and deliciously more powerful than anyone, even Odin.

            The Grandmaster’s magic striped away everything that Loki had built up around himself, every frosty eggshell defense.

            “Fuck me,” Loki whimpered, his voice hoarse. He could see his naked flesh turning blue, darker than the borrowed Kree’s skin had been, and a cold was rising up in him. And there the truth of the matter: jӧtunn he was, the runt of the frost giants, eyes as red as blood, a desperate, needy thing.

            “Fuck me,” he said again, rutting against the sizeable bulge in the Grandmaster’s robes.

            “Oh yeah, of course,” the Grandmaster replied, voice level as though they were discussing the weather. “We were getting to that, weren’t we? But then you turned all blue and I thought ‘well, I’ve never had someone die on my lap before and, well, there’s a first time for everything I s-s-suppose’. But then I thought, uh, this was one of your parlor tricks, really you must be so much fun at every party, but then, it’s more than that isn’t it? I’m collecting a moment here and not one that a lot of other people have gotten to have, I’d wager.” He deftly opened a few clasps in his robes and his cock sprang loose, bigger than Loki had expected it to be and glorious in that he hungered for it.

            “You truly are very interesting,” the Grandmaster went on. “Lots of magic to you. You’re doing some right now as we speak. Something that’s opening you up and making you slick for me? How marvelous! What fun!”

            “Yea,” Loki muttered. As though he’d had any control over that, as though his magic hadn’t begun its work all on its own the moment he’d seen that dick and yearned for it inside him, to split him open.

            He braced his hands, those blue appendages, that unnatural, awful blue of his own skin, on the Grandmaster’s chest and teased them both by clutching the Grandmaster’s cock between his thighs. He rubbed against it, slipping it between his cheeks, feeling its blunt head against his quivering asshole, wet with the simplest of water magic, the ring of muscle gaping, wanton, hungry.

            Despite everything, despite the Grandmaster’s obvious, strange power, it was Loki who was in command. He who would ultimately choose when he would sink down onto that beautiful cock.

            He took a deep breath and slowly moved, impaling himself centimeter by centimeter, until the breath he’s taken hissed out of him on a moan. He could feel the hard pillar of the Grandmaster’s dick inside him, twitching with each pulse beat, filling him, stretching him, using him. He pushed himself back up on his knees, threatening to pull off, before plunging himself back down.

            Kneel, Hela had said. And, oh, was he kneeling now. Kneeling and sitting on a throne of flesh. Loki, rightful king of Asgard, future king of Sakaar, ruling nothing now but doing so magnificently from the vantage point of the pinnacle of ecstasy.

            Grunting with every downward motion, Loki rode the Grandmaster, taking him in as deep as he could go, shuddering and whimpering the whole time. How long had it been since he felt like this? So tautly stretched, so vulnerable?

            And suddenly the Grandmaster was moving his hips, rising up to meet Loki’s thrusts and his cock was hitting that bundle of nerves deep inside with every movement.

            “That’s it,” Loki breathed. “Ah yeah. Fuck me good with that cock.”

            He continued pistoning up and down, using his strong thighs and the Grandmaster’s momentum. Loki’s hard cock bounced in front of him, sticky trails of pre-cum dribbling down from the slit. The Grandmaster grabbed it again in that hot grip and worked it, turning Loki’s commands into incoherent babble. He tossed his head back, his long hair flowing, veins popping on a sweaty, flushed blue face. He could feel a massively great, a thunder and lightning storm, of an orgasm building low in his gut, his balls getting high and tight.

            And then it was there, upon him, bursting him open as hot ropes of his cum splattered the Grandmaster’s hand, chest, and lap. Loki forced himself not to slow down, even as his hips and thighs shook involuntarily, even as he felt like his body was coming apart at the seams and every spurting mass of cum was being forcibly wrenched out of him. Still, he moved forcefully. Still, he felt the Grandmaster’s cock hitting that spot inside him over and over again.

            The Grandmaster, for his part, had finally stopped talking, his gray hair a little moist from sweat, his bottom lip still swollen from Loki’s biting. He was a fairly quiet fuck, all told, only gasping when Loki’s asshole clenched around him. Only moaning when he came, finally, pumping hot geysers of cum into Loki’s body.

            There was an obscene wet sound when the Grandmaster pulled out and Loki found himself sinking to the floor in front of him, oozing copiously out of his used hole.

            “Phew!” the Grandmaster said, falling back against his chair. Loki’s magic was starting to weaken and a few of the party-goers were beginning to groggily lift their heads. “Such an, uh, charmingly wonderful time, Mr. Ass-Fart.”

            Loki didn’t respond, fallen as he had to his knees on the floor of the ship, the blue retreating back from the reasserted pale skin he was used to. Strands of his long hair were plastered to his face with sweat and he knew he must look quite the mess.

            “I s-s-simply must keep you around,” the Grandmaster continued, “so we can have many more, uh, good times.” He clapped his hands. “Now, I’m famished! And you look just simply ravaged there, my good fellow. Maybe you ought to have a, uh, lie-down. There will be plenty more parties tomorrow and you’re going to be my personal chauffeur to every one, eh? How does that sound?”

            “Perfect,” Loki said, his smile eerie and practically reptilian. “That sounds just perfect.”

            He closed his eyes then, focused on his breathing, hearing the murmur of others emerging from their blissful naps. He found himself looking forward to being at the Grandmaster’s side, to forgetting Asgard for a while.

            Everything going according to plan.   

**Author's Note:**

> ♫ Fox on the run, screaming, everybody comes ♫
> 
> Find me on twitter: @campyalien


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